Fidelty
by nightshade468
Summary: Sairha gets threatened, shanghaied, bitten by a very bad-tempered Talking Horse, and has altogether far too much adventure for a proper princess of Archenland. Somewhat AU. Will probably turn into an EdmundOC.
1. Introduction

Introduction

Hello and welcome to my first effort at going solo for quite a while; my name is Nightshade, and before we start off, I'd just like to thank all the people who have reviewed my stories during the past few months, even though I've been M.I.A., particularly those who have loved The Connellys. I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to post anywhere at all; I had a bad case of writer's block and then became incredibly busy with classwork and some things I'm currently writing with my best friend. But now that it's summer semester, I'm going to have a lot more time to write, so I promise, the Connellys are coming back!

This story developed from an obsession with the Narnia movies (and the books to an extent, although I'll admit I haven't read them in a while), as well as some excellent fanfiction I've been reading since the release of Prince Caspian. Our heroine begins and ends her story in Narnia; I promise it's not a Mary Sue, by any means, merely my attempt at writing a story of dashing knights in shining armor, talking animals, and cruel villians. And if that doesn't sound like a cheesy movie script, then I don't know what does. So thank you for taking the time to read through this rather wordy introduction, and I hope you enjoy the tale.


	2. Arrivals

a/n: As I said, this is somewhat AU, but not terribly. And it will probably evolve into an EdmundxOC, because I fell in love with him in Prince Caspian. This chapter's not long, I know, but they'll get longer, I promise. Onward!

Fidelty

Chapter One: Arrivals

Sairha hates having long hair. Fine, well, that isn't necessarily true, since it does look nice when it behaves itself. And it does make her feel feminine.

It's the feeling of pulling all of it out of her scalp when she brushes it that makes her want to take her father's razor and hack it all off.

Today is worse than usual, probably due to the sea air. Sairha had been on this ship for two weeks now, headed towards a place where she was not all that certain she wanted to go. Not that she'd had a choice; when your uncle informs you that you will be attending the Narnian summer festival, and when your uncle happens to be King Lune of Archenland, you get on a ship to Cair Paravel.

Sairha, lesser Princess of Archenland, is being escorted by Duin, lord of Seajen, her father Beal's annoying lapdog, to become acquainted with both Rabadash, Prince of Calormen, and Peter, the High King of Narnia, in the hopes that a marriage alliance might be formed. Never mind that she's only seventeen; her aunt Beala, her father's younger sister, had been married at fourteen. That Sairha had managed to remain unmarried for three years longer had been due only to her uncle's favor and her friendship with her young cousin, Corin, who is only ten.

Suddenly, there is a knock at the door, and Duin steps inside, bowing. "We are within sight of the dock, Highness. Please come abovedeck." And then he backs out of the room, very aware that she doesn't want him in there.

Sighing, Sairha stands, letting herself out of her stateroom and carefully coming out onto the deck, mindful of her skirts on the not-so-clean stairs. She sees the castle of Cair Paravel on its peninsula above them, and any thoughts of her hair go out the window; she can't stop a grin from spreading across her face, making it seem as though it were alight. It's a face that Sairha had long since given up on; she's not beautiful by traditional standards, her father's family has features that are too strong for any sort of beauty. But those strong features make her striking, and her smile is lovely.

Sair doesn't complain about what she considers to be plainness; it keeps the suitors away. Few men want to woo a woman who looks like an only slight more delicate version of her father, who can ride and use a sword as well or better than they can, even if she's been forbidden to do so. It's a gift, in her eyes. She's not interested in marriage, although she knows she may be forced to bend to her father's will in the matter sooner or later. A daughter with royal blood can bring money and powerful alliances if married to the right man.

And it's not that she doesn't enjoy pretty dresses and going to banquets and balls, meeting handsome men. She certainly has nothing against it. But if she pretends to be more of a tomboy (and it really doesn't take much pretending), then she's discovered that men will for the most part let her alone. That tactic will not work on this visit, however. Her father had warned her that Duin will be watching her closely. Beal has grown tired of his daughter's supposed machinations. If she does not behave like a proper lady, if Duin spots even the slightest bit of rudeness or bad behavior, she will be sent to Calormen, to the Tisroc, a man twice her age and enormously fat, as one of his many, many wives.

Sairha's not sure if her father would actually carry out such a threat, at least on his own daughter, but she's not willing to take that chance. Beal has never treated her poorly, but… his temper can become out of control at times.

The ship reaches the dock, and the plank is lowered; Sairha smoothes her pale blue skirt, brushing her hair behind her shoulder, and then follows Duin down the plank. She has to fight not to show her awe; she came to Narnia with her father as a child, once, and had been just as awed. It is a beautiful place.

That had been eight years ago, just after the coronation of the four Kings and Queens; High King Peter and Queen Susan had been older than she, and she hadn't known them well, but King Edmund had been ten to her nine, and Queen Lucy seven. She'd liked them both quite a lot, particularly Edmund. She smiles as she remembers the mischievous boy, who one minute would play at sparring with her and climb the old oak tree in one of the courtyards, and then the next would put on his crown and meet with diplomats, or don his armor and ride into battle. She'll be happy to see him again, she thinks; she hopes he hasn't changed very much… They've exchanged a few letters over the years, and he'd sounded much the same, but eight years is a long time…

She sees Duin watching her closely out of the corner of her eye and tries to compose herself, although it's difficult, she's so excited.

Just as they reach the bottom of the plank, a dark-haired young man and woman step forward, and Sairha's eyes widen. "Edmund?" she blurts out, not thinking. The young man's face breaks into a cheeky grin, and Sair immediately blushes, dipping into a curtsy. It seems like they've all grown up, despite the picture she's always carried in her head of him as a ten-year-old boy. Now he's tall, broad-shouldered, and yes, she admits it, very handsome. And Susan… she can see that the title of the most beautiful woman in the world is not exaggerated in the slightest.

"Your Majesties. It's good to see you again." She straightens, meeting Susan's eyes and smiling shyly. "Queen Susan. Please excuse my… erm… outburst. I was taller than King Edmund the last time I saw him."

Susan raises her brows and then laughs, turning to eye her brother, who looks indignant. "I can hardly recall you being that short, Ed."

"Shut it," he mutters, stepping forward and bowing slightly, taking Sairha's hand and kissing it. When he stands, he looks much more composed, although Sair is wary of the glint in his eye. "Princess Sairha. Whereas I have grown, you seem to have shrunk."

If they were anywhere else, and if Duin where not breathing down her neck, Sair would have rolled her eyes. He's nearly a foot taller than her five feet, three inches. "Only because you seem to have giant blood," she murmurs under her breath in a falsely polite tone as he steps back. She'd thought she'd been quiet enough, but then he laughs quietly, turning to Duin and greeting him with a polite smile. They start the long walk up to the castle, and Sairha can't help but think, with considerable relief, that Edmund hasn't changed all that much at all, it seems. Still a peculiar mix of boy, warrior, and king. And she still ahs no idea how he does it.


End file.
